


Picking Pine Needles From Your Hair

by jonsastan (lilzipop)



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 100 percent organic home grown fluff, Cousin Incest, F/M, Fluff, Jon and Sansa are Cousins, Jon is raised as the Starks cousin, arya and sansa fight as kids like actual sisters, but that's okay in Westeros
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-17
Updated: 2019-10-17
Packaged: 2020-12-21 01:42:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21066692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilzipop/pseuds/jonsastan
Summary: “Arya!” Sansa cried, a call familiar to Jon’s cousins, but it caused Jon to spin and face his younger cousin.Sansa was sat on the muddy forest floor, her carefully and patiently constructed flower crown crushed under Arya’s boot, her long auburn hair riddled with pine needles.





	Picking Pine Needles From Your Hair

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Amymel86](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amymel86/gifts).

> I did a 'give me a fic title and I'll tell you what I'd write' on Tumblr and Amymel86 sent me this title and I really liked the idea so I wrote the fic!

“Arya!” Sansa cried, a call familiar to Jon’s cousins, but it caused Jon to spin and face his younger cousin. 

Sansa was sat on the muddy forest floor, her carefully and patiently constructed flower crown crushed under Arya’s boot, her long auburn hair riddled with pine needles. 

“Arya you- you ruin everything!” Sansa’s bright blue eyes welled up with tears.

“But Jenny was a commoner!” Arya replied, crossing her arms. “ She wouldn’t have pretty dresses or pretty flowers.” Arya glanced over to Robb, Theon and himself. “She wouldn't!”

“Arya.” Robb said in a voice that mimicked Eddard Stark’s rarely heard scold. 

“You’re all stupid!” Arya shouted before turning and running deeper into the Godswood.

“I’ll get here.” Theon said, chucking his wooden sword down and chasing after Arya.

“No! Theon! Leave her!” Robb cried, before throwing his own wooden sword to the ground and following his father’s ward. 

After their footsteps receded, Jon could hear the quiet, gentle sobs of Sansa. She was kneeling, holding the remains of her flower crown, her eyes red with tears, her nose running. In an entirely unladylike action Jon watched as Sansa wiped her nose on the sleeve of her gown. 

Jon moved toward her, dropping his own sword to the ground, and offered her his hand. 

He had not spent much time in Sansa’s company since he was fostered to Winterfell. She spent most of her time following her Lady Mother about, or sewing, or talking with the other girls, whilst Jon was occupied learning to fight and how to run a keep. They saw each other during lessons where Sansa, despite being two years younger than himself and Robb, was taught the same things. 

Sansa looked up at him. 

_She has pretty eyes_. He thought as she placed her hand in his. He pulled her to her feet and offered her a soft smile. 

“You made a good Jenny.” He said. “Pretty.” He added.

“Thank you, Jon.” She gave him a watery smile before sniffing slightly. “Oh my dress is ruined.” Sansa brushed fruitlessly at her mud stained dress for a few moments before looking back to Jon. “Is my hair a mess?”

Jon looked at the halo of pine needles that had twisted and tangled their way into her long red hair. 

“Yes.” Jon answered simply. 

“Oh.” Sansa’s eyes seemed to fill with tears within a heartbeat. 

“But it’s okay!” Jon said, moving closer to her. “I’ll help you fix it.” He placed his hand on her shoulder and rubbed her arm gently, like his father had done to him on occasion. 

“Okay.” Sansa sniffed. 

“Stand still.” Jon went to work, quickly and carefully pulling a multitude of pine needles from Sansa’s hair, trying not to disrupt the two simple braids that held the front bit of her hair from her face. 

“All done.” Jon said, holding up the last pine needle before Sansa’s gaze. He watched in mild awe as her nimble fingers moved, tucked and weaved until her hair looked near as perfect as before. 

“How’s that?” She asked, turning her face up to him. Her eyes were dry now, but still a little red, her cheeks tear stained, and her hair was neat. 

“You look lovely.” He said, copying the phrase he’d heard at court once.

Sansa’s cheeks flushed prettily and she moved closer to him. She stood on her toes and pressed a swift, soft kiss to his cheek.

“Thank you, Jon. You are a true knight.” She smiled and then began to walk back, toward Winterfell.

Jon watched her, his own cheeks flushed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Jon.” Sansa gasped. He loved the way she’d say his name when his lips would pass over that one spot on her neck, just below her ear. Her hand tugged on his hair and he moved until his lips found hers. Her hips rolled against his and he couldn’t help but moan into her mouth.

“Sansa,” He whispered, pulling away from her, propping himself up on his elbows. Sansa’s lips remained occupied, travelling down his cheek, his jaw until she found the spot on his neck that made it near impossible for him to think. “Sansa, we should stop.”

Her lips stopped moving, but her mouth still hovered over that spot. “Do you want to stop?” 

“No.” Jon replied quickly, enjoying the feel of her body beneath his. “But your father will soon notice neither of the betrothed are at the feast currently being held in their honour.” 

She fell back against the floor of the Godswood with a little moan of disappointment. Jon could see her almost clearly in the moonlight, her hair splayed about her, her eyes half closed with lust, her lips plump and swollen from his kisses. 

_Gods she’s beautiful_. He thought, leaning down and kissing her again. He felt Sansa smile against his lips as her hands travelled down his shoulders and back. 

“We should be getting back.” Jon said when they had stopped for a breath. 

Sansa sighed and wriggled slightly, signalling for Jon to move. He rolled slightly, no longer covering her with his frame. Sansa sat up and glanced over her shoulder at him, as he remained reclined on the cloak he’d laid out for them. 

“I wish we were married.” She said. 

“Two more weeks.” He answered, sitting up and pressing a kiss to her shoulder. She moved until her forehead was pressed against his. 

“That’s two weeks too many.” She sighed. Jon chuckled. She pulled away and brushed some dust from her skirts. “A feast awaits, my betrothed.” She announced. 

Jon stood before offering her his hand. She took it and stood.

She’d grown into a beautiful young woman. Her tully colouring capturing the eye of all, but her kindness, her compassion, her care, enthralling their hearts. She was taller than him now, only slightly, but Jon didn’t care, it meant he could kiss her neck with that much more ease.

“Is my hair a mess?” She asked and Jon momentarily saw a muddy distressed young girl playing at being Jenny of Oldstones where his future wife now stood. 

“Aye.” He said, standing close to her. “But I’ll fix it.” And he plucked pine needles from her hair.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and Kudos are my bread and butter! :)


End file.
